Cindra cackled coldly as she raised her staff.
“I am not one of you!” she exclaimed angrily. “I was never one of you. You all think that my experiments rebounded on me and made me what I am now, but they did not. I wanted that change! I wanted that power. And now that I have it, I intend to use it.”
The end of her crooked staff blazed with a putrid green light and as she slammed it down on the ground, the flash of emerald brilliance blinded all of those watching her.
Shandon shielded his eyes and tried to see what was happening. Cindra had dropped to one knee, supporting herself with her staff, while behind her a jagged portal had appeared in the air, hissing and writhing like a living thing.
As the king watched, something huge and glowing red slowly dragged itself through the opening. Massive jaws opened and with a roar of anger, a magma wyrm slid into the throne room.
This beast was twice the size of the wyrm that Shandon and the others had faced in the cellar in Cindercore. It radiated intense heat, so hot that Cindra's shield sparked and sputtered as it protected her.
“Kill them!” she shrieked at it. “Kill them all. Leave none alive!”
The wyrm slithered down the steps of the dais, leaving a trail of melted rock in its wake. Shandon quickly turned to look at Falder, Torren and the page.
“Run!” he shouted. “Get as far away from that thing as you can.”
Falder nodded and grabbed the page by the arm. Torren clasped her other arm and the three of them stumbled away toward the main doors.
Odella and the other mages had scurried away from the dais. Jergen decapitated the last of the goblin warriors and he, Pieter and Brokk waited a dozen feet away from the goblin magic-users, unable to attack them while their shields were raised.
“Odella, can you bring down those shields?” Shandon called to the mage.
Encased in her own magical barrier, the mage could only shake her head as she kept her distance from the magma wyrm. Walkar moved along beside her, his attention focused on the threatening creature.
“I'm sorry, my lord, but no,” she replied loudly over the hissing of the wyrm. “There are five goblin mages left and only four of us. Even if we could get through their shields, we must deal with that monster first.”
“Damn it,” the king muttered. “Now what? The goblins will attack us while our attention is focused on the wyrm, but if we concentrate on them, that monster will tear us apart.”
A sudden shudder of sound rippled across the room like an unseen wave. Shandon winced as his ears popped and he saw Jergen and several of the mages react in the same way.
“What was that?” Pieter exclaimed. He looked mystified as he scanned the room.
A babble of sound drew the dwarves' attention toward the goblin mages. The five of them were jabbering sharply with each other. Several of their cowls had fallen back from their faces and their twisted features wore clear expressions of fear.
Walkar laughed lightly as he kept his eyes on the wyrm.
“The shield around the throne room has fallen, my lord,” he told the king. “Some of my people, and your guardsmen, will be able to reach us now.”
Shandon swung around to look at Cindra. The witch was staring up at the distant ceiling, a look of confusion on her haggard face. Her wyrm had stopped moving, apparently awaiting her commands.
“Losing control, witch?” Jergen bellowed at her from the center of the room.
She looked across the distance at him and scowled.
“A minor setback!” she cried. “My allies will still destroy you before any help can arrive. And as for you...” she added, turning her attention back to Shandon. “I will deal with you myself.”
Cindra pointed her staff at the king and the magma wyrm pulled back its head and opened its maw wide.
“Watch out!” Walkar cried. “It's going to hurl lava at you!”
Shandon turned to run and he slipped on a slick patch of goblin blood and fell to his knees. He looked back at the wyrm and gripped his hammer in both hands. He snarled through his beard at it and waited for death.
A blinding flash followed by a heavy blow tossed the king a dozen feet across the room. He rolled to a stop and pushed himself to his feet, a bit dizzy as he looked back to the place where he had been kneeling a moment before.
Walkar was standing there and Shandon realized that the mage had Gated himself across the room and slammed into the king to move him out of danger. Their eyes locked for a brief instant just before the mage was engulfed in a hissing stream of lava.
There was a brief, tearing scream and then Walkar collapsed, consumed by the magma. There was nothing left of him but a bubbling pool of melted rock.
“Walkar, no!” Odella screamed.
Jergen and Pieter bellowed with rage and together with Brokk, the three warriors leaped at the remaining goblin mages. The creatures squeaked in fear and turned to run. Their shields collapsed as they lost their focus and Jergen and the others cut them down.
Odella, Khara and Josper all cast spells at the same time and blasts of ice pellets and freezing wind hit the monster from all sides. The wyrm reared up, roaring and vomiting molten rock in all directions as it flailed around blindly.
While the mages attacked the magma wyrm, Shandon was completely focused on Cindra. He was stricken with guilt over Walkar's sacrifice and furious with the witch. He stalked forward, giving the wyrm a wide berth, until he reached the bottom of the dais.
Cindra seemed to be confused by everything that was happening at once. She watched as her goblin allies were slaughtered by Pieter, Jergen and Brokk and then seemed dumbfounded as her pet wyrm began to freeze under the onslaught of the spells from Odella and the others. As her attention was diverted, Shandon hefted his hammer and rushed up the steps toward her.
She saw him at the last moment and began chanting a spell just as the king smashed his hammer against her shield. The runes on the hammer blazed with silver light and Cindra was flung back several yards. She landed on her back and her staff fell out of her hand. It skittered away out of reach and the witch frantically groped for it as her shield fell apart in a shower of sparks.
During all of the chaos, Corbin had remained sitting on the throne, crouched down in terror as he watched the conflict. His pudgy face was bathed in sweat and pale with fear. But now, as Cindra fell a few feet away from of the throne, he saw her staff slide toward him. He jumped up and stumbled forward to grab it.
“Don't touch that, you fool!” Cindra shrieked at him.
Corbin grinned at her triumphantly as he scooped up the staff.
“Now I have your power!” he exclaimed with a mad titter of laughter as he raised the rod over his head.
His celebration only lasted for a few seconds. As his father looked on, Corbin's expression changed from glee to horror. He began to scream as he stared at the hand that held the staff. It began turning black and then withered as if all of the life and energy was being sucked out of it.
Corbin shook his arm frantically, trying to drop the staff, but it seemed to be sealed to his flesh as the withering continued up his arm toward his shoulder. The prince turned to look across the dais toward the king.
“Father! Help me!”
Shandon watched him expressionlessly.
“You reap what you sow, my son,” he said evenly. “You should have chosen your friends more carefully.”
Corbin fell to his knees, weeping and moaning as the corruption reached his shoulder and climbed up his neck. His face began to wither and he had time for one last scream just before his head collapsed like an empty wine skin and he fell back, dead.
The king had forced himself to watch his only son die. When it was done, he stared at the blackened body and felt a mixture of relief and regret. Even after all that Corbin had done, he had still been Shandon's only child and he spared a thought for what might have been, had things turned out differently.
His attention was abruptly drawn back to Cindra as the witch began
to cackle with laughter. She had pushed herself to her knees, her white hair draped over her face as she stared at Corbin's body. As she began to crawl toward the staff now lying next to the prince, Shandon hurried past her and kicked the rod away. It flew off of the dais and disappeared into the shadows. Then he turned to look at Cindra and raised his hammer.
“You are finished,” he told her. “Your evil has run its course and your scheming has come to naught. It's time to pay for your crimes, witch.”
Cindra stood up unsteadily and her red eyes locked onto the king's. And she laughed.
“Finished, am I?” she said with a crazed grin. “You fool. Your pathetic excuse of a son just completed the ritual to summon my masters' servant. Corbin's life was to be the final sacrifice: royal blood to call forth a messenger from the gods. And that messenger will tear your little palace apart and raze your empire to the ground. You are doomed, Ironhand.”
She raised her arms and another shield appeared around her.
“I do not need my staff to use my powers,” she said triumphantly. “And my masters will reward my service with even more magic! I will be more powerful than any mortal has ever been.”
Around the dais, the noises of battle had faded away. The wyrm had toppled, frozen into a writhing mass of stone. All of the goblins were dead. And the dwarves who had accompanied the king were standing scattered around the throne room, staring up at Shandon and Cindra.
In the suddenly quiet room, the king heard footsteps ascending the dais and he turned to look behind him, fearing the worst.
But it wasn't some demonic servant of the dark gods who appeared at the top of the steps. It was Larin.
He was wearing a pure white robe that was covered with mystical symbols stitched with golden thread. His hands were closed tightly as if he was trying to hold his emotions in check.
“No, you do not need your staff, Cindra,” the mage said as he walked forward to stand next to Shandon. “We can all see that. You are still quite powerful. But instead of waiting to greet the servant of your dark masters, perhaps it would be better for you to meet them in person.”
The witch stared at Larin in surprise, as did the king. The mage looked tired and there were new lines on his face, but he stood steadily as he watched Cindra. There was no hint of weakness about him.
“Still alive, old friend?” Cindra snarled. “I was hoping that you had died back in Cindercore.”
“Yes, of that I am certain,” Larin replied equably. “But I did not. And now it is time to end this. You wanted to serve the lords of Chaos, did you not, child? Very well, you shall get your wish.”
“What are you blathering about?” Cindra said angrily. “I have won, you fool! By the time any of you can get through my shield, the divine messenger will have already arrived.”
Larin sighed and shook his head.
“The messenger is seeking you, Cindra. Personally. He will appear wherever you happen to be. So let us make it easier for him to join you, hmm?”
He raised both hands, palms up, and Shandon stared at the glowing orbs floating above each one. One was burning with a dazzling white light while the other was as black as the darkest of nights.
Cindra stared at the orbs and stepped backwards in fear.
“What is this? What are you doing?”
“I am sending you to a place where you can speak with your gods, of course,” Larin told her. “I would wish that you would find joy in their company, but I suspect that they will not be pleased with your failure. Goodbye, Cindra. Always remember that you brought this on yourself.”
“No! You do not have that kind of power!” Cindra shrieked.
“Oh, but I have.”
Larin flung both orbs toward the witch and she turned around in a panic and tried to run. The orbs flew over her head and suddenly merged into one. A second later they expanded as if cutting a hole in the very fabric of reality and descended upon Cindra. She cried out one last time and then she was gone. Nothing was left of her and the portal disappeared a moment later.
Shandon looked around, but there was no sign of the witch. He looked at Larin in confusion and the mage smiled at him.
“Be at ease, my lord,” he said calmly. “She is truly gone. Your empire is safe once more.”
“But where is she?” the king asked with a frown. “Did you kill her?”
“Oh no, I would never have done that.”
Larin seemed to catch himself and he tapped his lips thoughtfully.
“Well, not unless she had forced me to. No, my lord, I simply sent her away to a place where she can no longer do any harm to anyone.”
“But where?” Shandon asked him. “No matter where in this world you may had put her, Cindra will be able to make her way back to the empire. This merely gives her the time she needs to regroup and summon more allies, including that messenger she was talking about.”
“Hey! What's going on up there?”
The king and Larin turned around and walked to the edge of the dais. Below them, all of the others, including the rogues led by Hallic, were standing together looking up.
Shandon smiled in relief as he saw them all. Jergen and Pieter were both wounded, but the injuries appeared to be minor. Brokk looked as fresh and well turned out as he usually did and he saluted the king as Shandon caught his eye.
Odella and the mages seemed unharmed, but there were several charred spots on their robes and Odella's fine hair was floating around her face, having come undone again during her battle with the wyrm.
The magma wyrm itself fell over at that moment and shattered into pieces. Apparently the mages' cold spells really had done the trick and destroyed it.
Hallic and his rogues looked as relaxed and alert as ever. They had done their part and killed several goblin warriors. They had also filled one of the mages with so many crossbow bolts that it looked like a pincushion. All of them appeared to be quite pleased with themselves and Shandon had to smile when Hallic gave him a wink.
“Corbin is dead,” he announced loudly. “And Cindra has been neutralized. Larin sent her...somewhere safe, apparently. Although he hasn't told me exactly where that is.”
“You let her live?” Jergen asked, outraged. “That witch deserved to die, Larin! What have you done?”
Several of the others grumbled and Shandon looked at the mage expectantly.
“Well, Larin?” he asked. “Where is she?”
The mage looked from the king to the group at the bottom of the dais and back again.
“I sent her to the one place that she wanted to reach. Cindra wished to serve the dark gods and now she will serve them for eternity. I fear though that they will probably use her for their own twisted amusements rather than as a devoted servant.”
He looked down at the others and met Odella's eyes.
“I sent her into the Void.”
A moment of silence followed his pronouncement.
“The Void?” Shandon said slowly. “You mean, beyond this world?”
“Beyond all worlds, my lord,” Larin told him. “Cindra is now in the realm of the gods, outside of our time and space. She is trapped there in the middle of the eternal conflict between the lords of Light and Chaos. How she will fare is unknown to me, but I cannot think that her masters will be pleased with her failure. But that is out of my hands. She can no longer harm you or the empire and that was my goal.”
He looked back at the twisted, blackened shell that had once been Corbin Ironhand.
“I am very sorry about your son, my lord,” he added softly. “That could not have been an easy death.”
Shandon glanced at the remains momentarily.
“No, it was not. I grieve for him, and for what might have been, but Corbin was an adult and he made his own choices. Unfortunately he made the wrong ones.”
He placed a hand on the mage's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.
“And I am sorry for Walkar's loss. He saved my life by sacrificing his own. It was a noble act and one th
at I will never be able to repay.”
Larin nodded sadly.
“I think he would say that saving your life was repayment enough, my lord. Rule long and well and that will honor Walkar's memory.”
“I will try.”
The main doors crashed open and a group of armed dwarves rushed into the throne room. They looked across the length of the room and saw the king standing on the dais. A cheer rang out and Jergen and the others joined in.
Shandon laughed and shook his head as he looked at Larin.
“So it is finally over. At last. We have much to do to repair the damage caused by my son and his witch, but at least the empire is secure once again.”
Larin gave him a mischievous smile as he watched the king lean wearily on his hammer.
“At least until the next crisis,” the mage replied.
Epilogue
In a private corner of the royal gardens, Shandon Ironhand was standing silently and still, staring at a small granite marker set flush to the ground. Flowering plants and tall, well-trimmed vines sheltered the spot from curious eyes and there was a soothing silence here.
Inlaid into the surface of the marker in gold lettering was a simple inscription. Just a name and a date. Nothing more. No one had visited this spot since the marker had been installed a few weeks earlier. Not until now.
“My son,” Shandon said softly.
He was clad simply in a plain white tunic and black leather trousers. The beads entwined in his beard gleamed in the light of the garden, along with a few new strands of silver hair mixed in with the brown. A simple dagger hung at his waist and the king hooked his thumbs over his belt as he stared down at the marker.
Since the battle for the palace had ended, many things had begun to change across the empire and the king contemplated those changes as he stood silently in front of the memorial.
Once the fire damage done to their homes by Cindra had been cleared away, and the houses had been rebuilt, the mages and their families had moved out of the palace and back to their section of the city. The king had sent out notices across the empire telling his people how valiantly the mages had fought to save the throne from the usurpers. And ever since then, Shandon had heard that attitudes toward the mages were changing. They were no longer regarded as strange and dangerous by many ordinary dwarves and he was pleased at the news. Larin and his people had earned all of the respect and accolades that they could get and the king was sure that over time more and more of his people would begin to accept them.
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 47